Five Nights at Baker Street
by Boulderstar2000
Summary: It's been a slow day at 221B when an odd man comes to visit. Everyone says he's crazy, but John and Sherlock decide to hear him out.
1. The Man

**Hello! Boulderstar2000 here! I decided to write a short story based on the Five Nights at Freddy's series and the tv show Sherlock. Of course, I own neither of those things. **

**I know that Five Nights at Freddy's probably takes place in the 90's. And in America. Just pretend that through the magic of plot, those problems have been resolved. I only have one other story (That I've hardly updated. Whoops.), so I apologize if anything seems odd or ooc!**

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It was a slow day at 221B Bakers Street. Hardly any clients had been in over the past week, and, of course, Sherlock was very bored. He made quite sure John knew this. And in the middle of making sure John knew exactly how bored he was, there was a knock on the door.

"Oh thank goodness, a client!" John said, standing up. He could only put up with bored Sherlock for so long. He opened the door, and standing on the other side was a man in his mid-twenties. He had short, scraggly brown hair, and was unshaven. There was a wild look in his eyes. The look of someone who had been relentlessly tormented.

"Please come in." John stated, ushering the client inside. The man looked around nervously, as if he expected something to jump out at him. After taking a few cautious steps, he seemed to calm a bit and come fully into the room.

"So-" before John could start, the paranoid man interrupted him.

"Please, please, you've got to help me! No one else believes me! They all say I'm crazy!" The man had an American accent.

"Well that's because you probably are." Sherlock said.

"W-what?"

"It's obvious you suffer from a form of PTSD. Something traumatic has happened to you, and as a result, your mind has suffered. While 'crazy' is a bit of an umbrella term, you would most likely fall under it in one way or another."

"How did you know?"

"Oh for crying out loud it's obvious! Even the simplest of cretin could see it! Why-"

Before he could continue, John stopped his ramble. "We understand, Sherlock."

"So if you think I'm crazy, does that mean you won't help me? I knew it, I knew no one would believe me!" He started mumbling to himself, getting more and more frantic.

"Well this was at least mildly entertaining. Good day." Sherlock brushed the man off.

"Come on, don't you think we should at least hear him out?" John pleaded. He felt bad for the man.

"Oh fine, but just because there's nothing better to do. I can already answer now, it's all in his head as an-" A glare from John made the detective go quiet. "Yes, please, go right ahead."

"R-really? Oh thank you!"

"Go ahead and start from the beginning." John said in a calming tone.

"There was an ad in a paper. For a job at a local pizzeria..."

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**Please leave a review and tell me what you think! They are very appreciated! I probably won't write any more on this, but if you guys really want me to, I may. Thanks for reading!**


	2. The Case

**Hello all! I am very sorry it took me so long to post another chapter! I got tons of positive feedback, so I will be continuing this story. Also, I apologize for the short length of this chapter, but I wanted to go ahead and get it out.**

**As always, I own neither Sherlock nor the Five Nights at Freddy's games.**

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John had never heard a story quite like the one Mike Schmidt had just told him and Sherlock. Killer animatronics and a shady company that was cheap to the point of ridiculousness. It sounded almost like a video game. What had at first seemed to be the ramblings of a paranoid man had shaped up to be quite the mystery.

Mike stared expectantly at the duo. "A-are you going to help me? Or send me away like everyone else?"

"Well, what is it exactly that you want us to do? You've told us the story, but no way to solve it."

Sherlock responded.

"Oh, uh... ", Mike stuttered, "No one has actually listened to me for this long before."

Sherlock flashed an irritated look.

A flash of inspiration sparked in Mike's eyes. "Bring them down. No one deserves what I had to go through. What any of the other guards had to go through. The waiting. The fear. The death. It has to stop. Please."

The man's desperate plea moved John. "Of course we'll take it. How can we not?" The nightguard's face lit up.

"That's all well and good John, but I do believe that I am the detective here. I choose which cases I do, and do not take."

In an instant, Mike's face fell. John gave Sherlock a disproving look.

"Oh alright. I'll take the case, stop your whining."

"We weren-"

"I have nothing better to do, and taking down an organization sounds like an interesting test of my abilities."

John rolled his eyes. Of course he saw it as a test and not as a way to help another human being. Mike leaped up and started shaking the tall detective's hand vigorously. "Th-thank you! Thank you so much! You have-"

Sherlock abruptly jerked his hand out of the man's slightly sweaty grasp. "First things first, I am going to need your phone number."

"W-what?" Mike stuttered.

"Well, if I am going to be spending five nights at Freddy's, then I will need someone with experience. You fit the bill perfectly."

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**Please review and tell me what you think! I love the feedback!  
**

**Hopefully I will be uploading another chapter soon!**


	3. The Companion

**Hey! Sorry it took me so long to update! It's been exam time, so I've been quite busy! Hopefully when school gets out, I'll be able to post more often!**

**Anyway, please enjoy the story!**

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"WHAT?!"

John yelled, turning to face Sherlock.

"After all he told you about how bloody awful that god-forsaken place is, you _want_ to go there and die a horrible death?"

"I don't intend on dying, John." Sherlock calmly replied.

"But-"

"If Mike could do it, then obviously I will be able to do it."

"It was only luck I s-survived as long as I did," Mike interjected. "a lot of other guards, with more experience, have died in that office."

"I do not believe in luck, Mike. I believe in my own ability. I believe that I have the necessary skills to survive five nights, and I believe doing so will provide us with valuable information."

"Sherlock, in case you couldn't tell, I think that this is not a good idea," John snapped.

"So? I never said you had to come. You can stay here and write your blog or whatever it is you occupy your free time with."

"Mr. Holmes, the man who w-worked before me had worked there for years. He had the m-most experience anyone could ever have. Even his luck ran out eventually." Mike stated.

"As I said before," Sherlock huffed, "luck is just an abstract concept that humans made up to blame their failures and shortcomings on."

"I am not going to sit idly by while you go off to your death, Sherlock!" Everyone turned to face John. He took a breath. "I am your friend, and friends do not let friends run off into life-or-death situations by themselves."

Sherlock looked mildly surprised. "Does this mean that you're coming with me John?"

"I suppose it does."

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**So? Now John has been pulled into it! I promise the story will pick up soon!**

**Please tell me what you think in the comments! I really do appreciate it!**


	4. The Phone Call

**Hello all! School has FINALLY ended, so I _should _be updating more often!**

**Please enjoy the story!**

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After Mike had given John and Sherlock his number, he left to go a counselor that John had recommended. Nothing could truly fix that broken man, but he could still be helped.

Sherlock had called the pizzeria asking for a job, and as it happened, the position of night guard had recently opened up after the last employee had suddenly left. They were ecstatic to hire Sherlock, and told him he would start that night. He hung up the phone and gave a distressed look to John.

"What is it, Sherlock?"

"Oh, it's just awful! Terrible!" Sherlock said, slumping into his favorite chair.

"What is it?! What happened?!"

"They want me to wear a uniform," the man said, languishing in his chair.

"Oh for goodness sake Sherlock. It's just a uniform. Many jobs require one, and I'm not surprised that this one does too." John replied, rolling his eyes. "I thought something actually horrible had come up. Speaking of which-"

Sherlock cut John off, "But it is horrible John! Don't you see? I have to wear a grimy thing that tons of other people have worn and probably died in. It's disgusting."

"Well they do wash it. Just deal with it Sherlock, I'm sure it won't be that bad."

Sherlock huffed.

"Do we need to go pick it up?"

"No, they say the last guard spilled his coffee on it, so they sent it off to the dry cleaners to get washed. It won't be in until tomorrow."

"Coffee. Right. Anyway, as I was trying to say before you cut me off, how am I supposed to get in there? The position is only for one person."

"That's not a problem. The shift starts at midnight. The only other person that will be in the building is the guard before us, and he's going to want to make sure he gets out of there as fast as he can, so he won't be paying us much attention."

"What about the security cameras?"

"I knew you were going to ask that. There aren't any cameras in the security office itself, and since we have access to all the feeds of all the cameras, we can always tamper with them, but I doubt the administration of that place is going to check the feed anyway."

"Of course you've figured that all out, why do I even bother?"

…

The time had finally come for John and Sherlock to start their new job. Soon they were standing outside the front doors.

"This is the last chance to turn back John, if you don't think you can handle it. Once we go inside, we aren't coming out until 6 A.M."

"I can do this Sherlock. I've been through worse."

With a nod, the detective turned and pushed open the doors to the pizzeria. As Sherlock suspected, the previous guard was nowhere to be seen. They quickly passed through the party rooms and into the security office.

"I told Mike to call us once the shift started." Sherlock said, sitting down. There was an obvious problem.

"Sherlock, there's only one chair."

"So?"

"One of us is going to have to stand up for six hours."

Sherlock immediately sat down in it. "I intend to be watching the cameras, therefore it is important that I be the one seated."

"Oh for God's sake, couldn't we at least take turns?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Just stand up for tonight John, we'll bring you a chair tomorrow night"

"Fine." John mumbled, annoyed with how the situation had turned out.

_Ring. Ring. Ring._

Sherlock's phone went off. A quick glance at the caller ID told them that it was Mike who was calling. Sherlock flipped open the phone and set it to speaker.

"Hello? H-hello? Uh, I take it you made it to your new job at the pizzeria all right? Good, good. You know, this is kinda funny, I used to have a guy call me every night-"

"Time is of the essence, Mike"

"Of course, o-of course. I'm sorry. Anyways, welcome to your new summer job at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria!"

"It's not exactly summer, Mike"

"O-oh, it isn't? I guess I just lost track of time…"

Mike went silent for a bit.

"You were saying?" John politely inquired.

"Oh y-yes! I trust you have been informed of the company's policies?"

"What policies?"

"Oh you know, 'not responsible for damage to property or person', 'Upon discovering damage or death has occurred, missing persons report filed in 90 days, or as soon as it's all cleaned up' That kinda stuff."

John gave Sherlock a worried glance. Maybe he should have thought about this some more…

"But don't let all that get you down! You guys are gonna do fine here! You'll probably survive all five nights! Or at least the first three! The first three are always the easiest…" Mike started mumbling to himself.

Covering the phone's speaker, John whispered to Sherlock, "Are you sure this is a good idea? He seems a bit crazier now then he was earlier."

"Oh it's fine, it's just because thinking about this extreme trauma he has lived through is making him worse."

John gave Sherlock an incredulous look. "Well?! Shouldn't we be concerned about him?"

"No, no, of course not. Once we get this all over with, he'll be better than ever. Sometimes you have to make things messier to get it clean in the end."

"If you say so Sherlock"

Mike had gone quiet on his end.

"You still there Mike?"

"Y-yeah, sorry I got a bit caught up in myself there, it just happens sometimes and-"

"That's quite alright Mike" John said in a soothing voice. "Now, do you have anything else to say to us?"

"Of course, of c-course." Mike took a breath "Of course you know from my description of the animatronics, they do move around at night. If I remember correctly from my days working there, they're left in a 'free-roaming' mode after hours to prevent their servos from locking up. Oh! This might be important!" Mike sounded like he was readjusting where he was, and spoke in a hushed tone. "The animatronics used to be able to move around in the daytime, but then there was the Bite of '87. Yeah, I think that might be important for you to know. Apparently the victim is still alive, you know it's really amazing that the human body can live without the frontal lobe…" Mike coughed. "Back to the night at hand, the reason the animatronics are trying to murder you is because they think that you're an endoskeleton without a costume. This is problematic because, since this is not allowed, they will forcefully shove you into a costume. You do not want that."

"Why? You said these were killer animatronics, not the fashion police."

"Well, the costumes aren't exactly designed to hold anything besides an endoskeleton, so there around the facial area there are a lot of wires, crossbeams, and electronic bits that you don't want your head forcefully shoved into. It'd probably be pretty uncomfortable… maybe a bit deadly, but you know, I never experienced it so…"

John took a deep breath to calm his nerves. This was getting worse by the minute.

"Heh, maybe your eyes and teeth would even get to see the light of day again, who knows?" Mike nervously laughed for a bit. "First night's not all that hard, you'll be fine, just check the cameras and only close the doors if you really, really have to. Don't want the power to go out on you. You definitely don't want that. Anyway, goodnight, you guys are going to do fine, I know it."

With that, the phone clicked off. John and Sherlock were now on their own to survive Night One.

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***sigh* now comes the time where I have to read the wiki and watch a bunch of let's plays to make sure I get all the habits of the animatronics right. Yay. Fun. (although why am I complaining if it gives me a reason to binge-watch YouTube, right?)**

**Anyway, please tell me what you think in the comments! I really appreciate it!**


	5. Night 1

**Well the time has finally arrived for John and Sherlock to actually survive a night in Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria! I tried to make it as accurate as I could, and I hope you enjoy!**

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Once Sherlock had put the phone away, John glanced over to check the faintly ticking clock that hung upon the wall.

"Don't bother John, the clock is a good three hours slow." Sherlock said, checking the bright screen of his phone. "The time is exactly 2:17 A.M."

"Wow, that phone call took a while, we only have four hours left."

"Technically, it's only three hours and 43 minutes until six A.M."

John rolled his eyes, "shouldn't we be checking the cameras?"

"I've already quickly flipped through them. I absorbed all the information they had to offer; all the animatronics are in their proper place."

"Well that's good at least. So I take it you are going to man the cameras?"

"Of course. I am the best at quickly taking in information, which is vital to surviving this week."

"What will I do Sherlock?"

"You can keep an eye on the hallways."

John looked at the monitor "You already have cameras in the hallways! Why do you need me to look out there as well?"

"There aren't any cameras directly by the doors, there's a blind spot, so I need you do keep watch."

"It's pitch black! I can't see a thing!"

"Calm down, for goodness sake, there's a light. It's the white button beside the door."  
John looked over on the wall adjacent to the doorway, and sure enough there was a square white button. Pushing it, the area around the doorway lit up.

Removing his hand, the hall once again filled up with blackness. "So all you want me to do is operate these lights?"

"Yes."

John noticed a red button directly below the white one. "What does this button do?"

"I'm- it does something important. It seems more well-worn then the white one, which means it's used much more often."

"But what does it do?"

Sherlock reached out and pressed the button. A metal door flew down from the ceiling and latched to the floor with a loud clang. "It closes the doors."

"Sherlock! What if it did something dangerous?"

"Well it didn't. And anyway, if I hadn't been sure of it's function, then I wouldn't have pressed it."

"So I control the doors to?"

"Yes, and that will be one of the most important jobs, requiring lightning reflexes."

"No pressure or anything"

Sherlock slapped his hand over John's mouth. John squirmed and tried to pull the detective's hand away, all the while glaring daggers at him.

Sherlock spoke in an urgent whisper. "Stop. Do you hear that?" He removed his hand from John's face.

John ceased his struggling and listened into the intense quiet of the facility. Suddenly, a heavy clunking sound broke the quiet.

"Is that... footsteps?" John whispered, fear lacing his voice.

Sherlock gave a curt nod.

"Check the monitor right now."

Sherlock flipped up the display and quickly scanned all the cameras. Suddenly, he stopped at Cam 2A. There, standing in the hall was a purple bunny wearing a red bow tie.

"Sherlock what do we do?"

"We watch it, make sure it doesn't get to us. If it gets close, close the door."

Time seemed to crawl along as Sherlock periodically checked on Bonnie's location. It was only 3:30 A.M. John could understand how this place had made Mike crazy...

"John it moved." Sherlock's frantic whisper broke John away from his thoughts.

With a shaking hand, John pressed the button to turn on the hall light. Standing there, silently, was Bonnie. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. Frantically John slammed his hand down on the red button, separating him from the deadly animatronic. He panted, the terror from the moment leaving his system. He had been only several feet away from his death.

After several minutes passed, Sherlock spoke, "John raise the door"

"Are you crazy Sherlock? That rabbit is on the other side of it! It'll kill us!"

"Well how are we going to know if it leaves or not?"

John was silent. Cautiously, he raised the door. The bunny was gone. Sherlock clicked through the cameras, checking the position. "The rabbit is in the Dining Room; I'll make sure to keep an eye on him."

John nodded.

"The yellow bird has also moved, but it's not in the hallway. Freddy is still on the stage."

Again, John nodded. This was no longer a time for banter and petty arguments. This was now a life or death situation. If either one of them failed to do their job, both would die.

Waiting was all that was left to do.

So they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

"John, right door." Sherlock broke the tense silence that had remained intact for an hour. Turning on the light, a yellow bird with a bib that read "let's eat!" on it stared in at them through the window. Again John felt the adrenaline rush. Again he closed the door. Five nights of this seemed like an impossibility. "Open the door John." Sherlock commanded.

"I don't think it's gone."

"We can't afford to lose any more power. Open it."

"No, I can tell, I have this feeling in my gut that it's still there."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'll open my it myself then." Reaching out, he pressed the red button. As the door raised, the yellow figure of Chica filled the doorway. With a yell, John flung himself at the buttons and the door clashed back to the floor.

"What did I tell you Sherlock? What did I tell you?"

"Calm down. We're alive and not inside a Freddy Fazbear suit. That's what matters."

"I... guess you're right." John sighed. The fight had drained from his system. _What if we aren't so lucky next time?_

After 30 minutes passed, John spoke, "How will this help us bring the place down Sherlock?"

"I'm recording our whole experience. This will give us first-hand proof of the experience here."

"Well what if... we don't make it."

"I told Ms. Hudson our whereabouts for the next couple nights. That way, if we go missing, someone knows where we were. While that may not be definitive proof, it will most likely spark more investigation, especially as to why the company waited to file a missing persons report."

The clock read 5:30 A.M.

"Sherlock, why do you think the animatronics behave like this?"

"You heard what Mike said, they think we're endoskeletons that don't have a suit. They're programmed to remedy that."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." John wasn't entirely convinced it was that simple. There had to be some other reason...

Loud chimes rang throughout the building.

The clock ticked over to 6 A.M.

John and Sherlock had survived their first night at Freddy's Pizzeria.

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**What do you think so far? I tried to do my best with pacing and the habits of the animatronics. Please tell me what you think and if there's anything I could do better in the comments!**


	6. The Bite of '87

**Whew, sorry it took so long to get this chapter out, I was having some serious writer's block. Hopefully, that's over now, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

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As soon as the clock struck six, the animatronics stopped whatever they were doing and mechanically headed back to the stage. John and Sherlock on the other hand got the hell out of there as quickly as they could. As they burst through the front doors and into the cool, damp morning air, Sherlock's phone rang. The detective answered it, putting it on speaker.

"Hello Mike."

"W-well the fact that I'm hearing your v-voice means you survived the night?"

"No it means we're dead." Sherlock sarcastically replied.

Mike's sigh crackled over the phone speaker. "Anyway, did old Bonnie give you guys any trouble?"

"No all the animatronics were lovely and we all had a tea party together."

"Th-the sarcasm is getting a b-bit old."

"Don't pay any attention to him Mike, and we did have a bit of an altercation with Bonnie, yes."

"Yeah, he's almost always the first active. I realized I forgot to tell you about the doors, but I guess you figured it out huh."

"No, we magically-"

John gave Sherlock a look, and Sherlock went silent.

"Anyway, Mike." John continued "you mentioned something about a Bite of '87?"

Mike's voice reduced down to a whisper. "Y-yeah. Apparently, during a party, an animatronic bitsomeone's head, causing severe damage to the frontal lobe. As a result, the animatronics weren't allowed to roam around freely during the day anymore."

"Why would the animatronic bite someone's head?"

"I-I don't know. Sometimes they are a bit quirky, maybe the victim provoked them or something like that."

"Provoked implies that they have a will of their own. They don't, they are machines." Sherlock replied.

"Well then explain the bite."

"The person probably wasn't thinking, as you people so often do, and suck his head inside the mouth of the animatronic as a 'joke', which in turn triggered a spring in the mouth to close it tightly on the person's head."

"Maybe." John said "Mike, was the victim an adult or child?"

"Uh, I'm not really sure, I don't know that much about it."

"Do you at least know what hospital he or she is at?"

"N-nope."

Sherlock sighed. "We'll update you if we find anything." He said, clicking off the phone.

"So you think the victim is important to the case?"

"It would help, but it is not necessary and not a valuable way to spend our time."

"I guess so."

With that, the duo turned to head home.

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**I know it's pretty short, but more is definitely on the way, such as Sherlock and John finding out about the murders...**

**Anyway, please review! I really do appreciate it!**


	7. The Nightmare

**I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

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When John and Sherlock arrived at 221B, John immediately collapsed into his bed, exhausted from all the adrenaline and fear that had coursed through his body. Despite the night's events, he soon fell into the embrace of sleep. Sherlock, on the other hand, went over to a desk and opened up a drawer on the top left. Removing the small camera from his lapel, he took out the false bottom to the drawer and set the camera inside. Replacing the bottom, he sat down in his chair and stared at the wall, thinking.

…

Tossing and turning in his bed, John's sleep was not a peaceful one. He stood inside a small restaurant with wooden walls. There were six tables lining the walls, each filled with screaming children. A man in a bear costume ran to each of the tables, giving the kids cake to calm them. John turned away from the frantic scene to stare out the window at the front of the building. It was almost as big as the wall it was on, giving a clear view of the sidewalk and road outside. The world through the window was plain, but one thing quickly drew John's attention. There was a crying child standing outside the restaurant. John immediately tried to move to go and comfort the child, but his legs refused to work. All he could do was watch as a purple sedan rolled up to the front of the restaurant. A man got out, although he seemed out of focus, like a memory that couldn't quite be remembered correctly. All John could make out about the figure was purple. His entire figure was a vibrant purple, no face, no features at all could be made out. The man approached the child as if he were comforting him, but it only caused the child to cry more. Suddenly, the man grabbed the child's head and snapped his neck. The young boy collapsed to the ground, the life drained from his body. The man stared at the body, and then whipped his head up to stare at John. Instead of eyes, the man had black empty sockets, unnerving John. He tried to look away, but his head was fixed in place.

A tiny pinprick of light appeared in the purple man's eyes.

"It's me"

John awoke with a start, covered in a cold sweat. The child's face still haunted him; the tear tracks standing out against his pale complexion. It had been so real, as if he was actually there, actually watching the events that had taken place.

Realizing he wouldn't be going back to sleep any time soon, John sat up and glanced at the clock.

9 A.M., John had been asleep for only about 2 hours. Standing on two weary legs, John walked down into the kitchen to have some tea to try to wake up and forget his nightmare.

As he came into the lounge with a fresh cup of tea, he saw Sherlock sitting in his chair, not looking at anything in particular.

"Have you not slept?"

"I do not need sleep, John."

John shrugged; he was too groggy to argue with the detective now.

"Don't you need to pick up your uniform today? When does the dry cleaner open?"

Sherlock sighed. "I'll do it later, John."

"Just don't forget."

Sherlock grunted and continued to stare off into space. John knew trying to talk to him when he was like this was pointless, so he sat down at his computer. Staring at the bright screen, John decided he would do some research into the pizzeria. Maybe understanding about the chain's past would help them in some way, although if it wasn't enough of a scandal to close the business down in the past, he doubted it would do anything now. But, it couldn't hurt, and he didn't have anything better to do other than to nag Sherlock. He really didn't want to think about how he would have to walk through those doors again that night.

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**John's dream sounds a bit familiar huh? Now I guess it's time to start work on Night 2...**

** Please review to tell me what you think!**


	8. The Research

**Sorry it took me a bit to update, but I'm trying my best to get all the facts straight, which means lots of wiki reading and YouTube watching.**

**I hope you enjoy!**

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John was surprised at how dark Fazbear Entertainment's past was. However, the company always seemed to dust itself off and try to cling to the scraps of business they had left. They had managed to survive like that for decades now.

The main incident was five children had being lured to the back of the restaurant by a man in a yellow suit and murdered. Apparently the criminal had been caught due to security camera footage, but the bodies of the kids were never found. Later, John noted that the restaurant was again closed for health reasons when the animatronics started to stink and ooze from the eyes and mouth, with one of the patrons even likening them to "reanimated corpses." It was obvious what had been done with the bodies.

John stood up to stretch his legs and his mind. He wasn't programmed to notice small details and piece things together, that was more Sherlock's forte.

"Sherlock, you need to go pick up your uniform. It's going to be too late soon."

"Exactly." Sherlock said, turning his attention away from whatever it was he was thinking about.

John sighed. "You need to wear your uniform. You could get in trouble."

"Do you honestly think that the management is going to stop by to check to make sure I'm wearing my uniform during our shift?"

"Well, no, but what about the security cameras?"

"They burn them every morning to hide any evidence of the animatronics acting up."

"And you know this how?"

"When we left the building last night I noticed that the dumpster had traces of melted plastic along the side and lid, which would suggest that burnt cassettes had recently been dumped there."

"How can you be sure of that?"

"When tape burns, it emits a very specific metallic smell, which was present at the dumpster. Also, where else would molten black plastic have come from?"

"Fine," John conceded. "But don't blame me if you get fired for this."

"Is getting fired really the worst that could happen to us at this job?"

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**Sorry this chapter was so short, but I'm working on my plan for the rest of the story, so more is definitely on the way!**

**Please review! I really appreciate it!**


	9. Night 2

**Heh, sorry this took so long to get out, I've actually had it written for a while, but had trouble getting my normal people to proofread it and also it was band camp time. Nothing like two weeks of constant marching outside in the lovely July weather to put your entire life on hold! Anyway, I'm back now, so you better believe the first thing I do is upload for you guys!**

**Please enjoy!**

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The time passed quickly until once again, John and Sherlock stood outside the doors to the pizzeria. The difference was that this time John came prepared.

"Is that clunky… thing really necessary John?"

"Yes it is. I am not going to spend six hours in a life or death situation without a chair."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "If you insist, but I doubt we're going to be spending much time sitting down anyway, we need to keep on our toes."

Ignoring Sherlock's comment, John walked up to the doors, "Let's get this over with."

"You can always not come along. You don't have to do this."

John ignored him and opened up the glass double doors into the restaurant.

…

Just as the clocked ticked over to 12 A.M. John and Sherlock reached the security office.

The phone went off.

Glancing at the caller ID, Sherlock saw that it was Mike and answered.

"U-uh, hello? You guys make it in a-alright?"

"We're here"

"Good, see, sometimes if you don't make it in before midnight they can come for you, while you're exposed. Ahem, anyway, congratulations on making it to Night 2! Go ahead and check the cameras as I talk, the animatronics tend to get more active as the week progresses, I guess i-it's just a glitch in their circuitry or s-something…"

Sherlock was already flipping through all the cameras, making sure all the characters were in their proper places.

"Was there anything else you were going to say Mike?" John asked.

"A-ah, yes. I don't know if you noticed, but Freddy rarely leaves the stage, but he becomes much more active in the dark, which means make sure the power doesn't go out."

A shiver went down John's spine at the thought of being in pitch blackness with that bear after him.

"A-also, have you figured out about the door lights? Pretty nifty huh? They let you see into the blind spots of the cameras."

Sherlock interjected, in a curt tone, "Yes, we figured that out. Anything else?"

"U-uhm… Oh y-yeah, have you seen Pirate Cove? It's the display with the 'Out Of Order' sign. You'll want to check on that from time to time, the character in there gets jumpy if the camera is off him for long periods of time. I guess he loves the spotlight huh? A-anyway, I'm sure y-you've got everything u-under control. Erm, t-talk to you soon."

Mike clicked the phone off without giving John or Sherlock a chance to respond.

"Have you checked Pirate Cove yet Sherlock?" John asked. He didn't like the sound of this "new" animatronic on the scene. Honestly, he didn't like the sound of anything in this situation.

"Of course John. However, I wonder how long we can leave it before it gets restless. We need to try to conserve as much power as possible without letting him become aggressive."

"What are you suggesting Sherlock?"

"I am suggesting, John, that we leave the cameras in Pirate Cove off and see how long it takes for it to reach its limit. That way, we can know exactly when to check him so we conserve as much power as possible."

"So we're going to let it attack us?"

"You could put it that way."

"What if it kills us?!"

"We'll use the door."

"I don't know, I don't think we should risk it."

"But…"

"No Sherlock, I am not going to let you willingly let one of those things attack us!" John lunged forward and snatched the camera display pad away from Sherlock, catching him off guard.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Making sure we don't die." Quickly John switched between all the rooms, seeing Bonnie in the hall and Chica in the main party room. Stopping on Pirate Cove, he saw the curtains closed with no sign of an animatronic.

"Oh thank God."

"That was uncalled for John! I had it completely under control!"

"Well I didn't want to risk it. I rather enjoy my life, and I would like to keep it."

"You know what? You don't even have to be here. It is your choice. I would do perfectly fine on my own! In fact, I bet I would do better without another person slowing me down."

"Fine! Get shoved into an animatronic suit. See if I care! I forgot you never have any need of any other human being!" With that, John stood, set the camera pad in his portable chair, and started out the door.

He was already gone when Sherlock's mind cleared and he remembered Mike's warning.

* * *

**DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNN**

**What will happen to John? Will Sherlock be able to do anything about him leaving? Where is the cupcake? Please review to tell me what you think!  
**


	10. The Shirt

**I couldn't wait to write this new chapter, so here it is! I hope you enjoy!  
**

* * *

Stomping down the East Hall, John was furious. How dare Sherlock put them at risk like that! Why on Earth he ever decided to spend more than one night here John didn't know, but it was over now. He was walking out those doors and never coming back.

As soon as he stepped into the Dining Room, all that confidence fled his body. Standing across the room, was Chica. Big and yellow, it was considerably bigger than John. The organic eyes met the robotic ones, and Mike's warning hit John like a pile of bricks. Don't leave during the night. They'll come for while you're exposed. How could he have been so stupid!? Now he was having a staring contest with a killer animatronic, with no way out in sight.

In a flash, John saw Sherlock burst from the entryway into the room. The same instant, the animatronic's attention snapped to the detective, eyes focused on his chest.

Then it charged.

The animatronic wasn't very fast, but it sure was menacing. Waiting until the last second, Sherlock leaped out of its way, akin to a matador dodging a bull.

"RUN!" The detective screamed at John.

John ran. He ran faster than he thought he could, straight for the door. He could hear behind him a second set of footsteps, and turned to look. Bonnie had just entered the room, and as he watched Freddy himself stepped off the stage. Sherlock was running towards him, yelling things that sounded like "What are you doing?" and "We've got to go!" but John was mesmerized. He could see something in their eyes. Something besides their mechanical instinct. Something that seemed almost… alive.

Sherlock barreled past him, catching him by the arm and dragging him outside. Once the duo stood outside the building the animatronics didn't follow, but they didn't leave to return to their places either. They just stared, focused on Sherlock.

"What the hell were you thinking just standing there like that?! We almost didn't make it!"

The detective's words seemed to pass right by John, because he too was focused on Sherlock. He noticed that now that all eyes were focused on his shirt.

"What on earth is it? Is there a stain or something? Does it offend your strict sense of style?" Sherlock said, charging it with as much sarcasm as he could.

"The color." John replied.

"Yes? What of it?"

"It's purple."

"So? What does that have to do with anything?"

John seemed like he had woken from a trance. "I-I'm not sure. It just…gives me this dark sense of foreboding. Like it represents more than we know."

"Pfft. That is utter nonsense John. Apparently this job has been getting to you."

"It doesn't matter because I'm not going back. If you want to throw your life away with those stupid robots than be my guest, but I would prefer not to be shoved into a costume."

"I never said you had to do it. It was your choice all along, so don't blame me if you got a little fright."

"A little fright?! _A little fright?!_ Sherlock those things were seconds away from killing us! Entering that building is automatically entering a life or death situation!"

"Well maybe if you hadn't stormed out like a child we wouldn't have been in that life or death situation."

"Don't you dare blame this on me. First of all, those things are aggressive no matter what we do and second, you're the one who wanted to willingly allow one of them to attack us! What kind of an idea is that?"

"One that would've helped us in the long-run. But it doesn't matter because now I'm doing this on my own, without you to get in my way."

"Well excuse me for caring about your well-being! Have fun in this hell hole by yourself!" With that, John turned and walked towards the road, hailed a cab, and was gone.

Suddenly this task of surviving five nights seemed a whole lot harder.

* * *

**They're ok... for now! Will John rejoin Sherlock? Is Sherlock secretly a matador? And don't think I've forgotten about the cupcake!**


	11. The Eyes

**Sorry this took me so long to get out, I've been having a bit of writers block. But, lo and behold, I got a chapter out, so I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

As soon as John got back to the flat, he collapsed into a chair. A lot had happened, which meant a lot to think about. However, his brain had other plans, and soon sleep took him.

…

Again, John had vivid dreams, no more pleasant than the last. This time, he stood behind closed curtains, as if waiting for a cue. Looking down at himself, he saw that he was not, in fact, a person, but instead a reddish animatronic with ragged brown shorts and a hook in place of one of his hands. When he noticed that he only had vision out of one of his eyes, John realized that he was playing the part of a pirate.

_Pirate. Wasn't there something about a pirate? _

When he tried to remember, it was like looking through fog. His mind seemed clouded. Wasn't he always like this? What was he trying to think of?

John's train of thought was interrupted by a horn which he instinctively knew was a cue for his appearance. Stepping out from behind the curtains, it seemed as if he went into autopilot. As if he already knew what to do.

Walking back and forth across the stage, he entertained the kids by singing and taking various pratfalls until the show was over. Then he waited. John felt as if he were more of an onlooker from the point of view of the character than actually in control, but other than that the dream was extremely vivid. He could smell the grease from the pizza the children were digging into below the stage, hear the bustle of the workers at the restaurant. Funny, it seemed familiar to him, but he couldn't quite place it.

After a while, the call sounded again for him to come out. Again he stepped out from the curtains and performed his routine for the kids. Again when he finished he returned to the dark space behind the curtains and waited.

John's mind remained clouded; all of this seemed familiar, as if he knew what it was, but there was some sort of mental block. He felt out of place, like he wasn't quite himself. Then the call sounded for a third time, and mechanically John started to step out from behind the curtains.

Then he noticed something different.

Something out of place. Something that didn't belong.

Standing to his left, leaning against a wall was a man. Out of focus, as if seen through an opaque glass. All that could be seen was purple. Lots of purple, in the shape of a man, with a wide, gaping smile and black pits for eyes.

It made his blood run ice cold, and his body froze. He stood staring into his eyes, unable to break his gaze.

The man made no move.

Finally, John managed to regain control, and he pulled the curtains aside, stepping out onto the stage.

Silence.

Pure silence.

In place of the children awaiting the arrival of the character there were corpses. Just sitting there.

John would've gotten ill right then and there if not for the sole fact that he knew it was a dream.

Just a dream.

Not real.

Not real.

SAVE THEM

John woke up when he ran into the wall. He had been sleepwalking, a trait which he was not aware of ever exhibiting. Rubbing his sore nose, he returned to his chair and tried to calm himself down after the nightmare. He was shivering in a cold sweat. Taking a shaky breath, he glanced at the clock.

4 A.M.

He'd been asleep for two hours. For the first time that night, he thought about Sherlock by himself in that God forsaken place and grew worried.

What if Pirate Cove came for him?  
What if he couldn't get to the door switch fast enough?  
What if they reached him before he ever got back to the office?

John sighed and tried to push his concerns from his mind. However, as he did, the memories from his dream came flooding back to him, and a fresh wave of chills came over him.

The corpses.

The smiling man. The smiling, purple man.

Sitting alone in the main room, John stared. Stared and remembered.

Remembered staring into his eyes.

John knew those kinds of eyes.

Black, souless eyes.

The eyes of a killer.

* * *

**Dream sequences call for choppy sentences am I right? Anyway, please review and tell me what you think! I really appreciate it!**


	12. The Hallucination

**I am very sorry this has taken me so long to post! School and marching band has been taking up a lot of my time, and so I haven't had a whole lot of time to write. It's fall break now, so hopefully that means I'll be able to post more often!**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

As the last wispy trails of the nightmare left him, John stood up and stretched his legs. While he had only been asleep for several hours, it seemed like he had been lying there for years. He realized that sleep would not soon come again, so he brewed himself some tea and sat down heavily in his chair. Staring at the wall, all John could manage to do was worry. About Sherlock. About these nightmares he kept having. About the story behind this pizzeria.

Without noticing it, John, despite his earlier thought, fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

…

Shrill beeping drilled its way into John's head, causing him to blearily open his eyes and search for the source. A small black digital clock sitting upon the mantle that John hadn't noticed before seemed to be the cause of the disturbance, and so he managed to drag himself out of the easy chair and slam his hand down upon the snooze button on top of the device. The beeping ceased. John slowly blinked; he hadn't even noticed falling asleep. He paced back and forth for a while to wake himself up, and when he felt that he could function properly, he checked the clock that had so rudely awakened him.

Gone.

John scratched his head. He was absolutely sure that that clock's alarm had awakened him and he had pressed the snooze button. How could it disappear? Maybe he was groggier than he thought.

A shadow moved at the edge of his vision.

Quickly he turned, but nothing was there.

John's senses grew more alert. He felt like he was being watched. While in his heavy sleep, someone must have broken in.

"Whoever is there, come out with your hands raised and I won't hurt you." John called as he inched closer to the desk that contained his pistol.

No response.

Reaching the desk, he kept his eyes forwards as he slowly pulled the gun out of its drawer. He took his eyes of the room for a second as he checked to make sure it was loaded and ready, then raised the weapon.

A crying face. Or was it a mask?

Whatever it was, John fired at it.

Just like that it vanished into the darkness.

Was it even there at all?

The door to the flat busted open.

John wildly turned and aimed the pistol at the man who had come in.

"Calm down John, what's going on?" Sherlock's voice said, and in an instant John recognized his friend.

"There is someone in the flat Sherlock. I'm sure of it."

"Don't be ridiculous John, The door was locked when I got here, and I'm sure Ms. Hudson would have noticed anyone coming up the stairs."

"No, there's someone here. There's got to be."

"If you insist, then hand me the gun and I'll go check."

John complied, but didn't relax and Sherlock proceeded to the kitchen and then to the bedrooms.

The detective searched for a while, and when he returned he said "There's no one here John."

"Are you sure? I saw them, I swear I did Sherlock."

"Well there are no signs of a break-in, nothing has been moved."

"The clock!" John said, inspiration hitting him as he thought of a way to prove someone had been here. He strode over to the mantle where the digital clock had been sitting, but there were no signs of it's placement. "It was right here, a clock. Its alarm woke me up and then it disappeared."

Sherlock walked over and inspected the area John had said the clock had been. "There are no signs of anything being placed here. Maybe it's for the best that you left the Pizzeria early, I think it's getting to you."

"No, I'm sure…"

"And I'm sure, John, that no one has been in this flat tonight besides me and you."

John sighed. "Fine."

Then John noticed what Sherlock had in his hand. "Is that my chair?"

"Oh, yes. I almost forgot about it. I thought it would be a shame if it stayed in that stuffy room and got ruined, so I brought it back." Sherlock seemed to be expressing an emotion somewhat close to apologetic. He leaned it against the side of the couch and said, "I'm going to bed," leaving in the direction of his bedroom.

John could hardly remember why they had gotten so upset in the first place. Maybe that place was getting to him…

Pushing these thoughts from his mind, he sat down in front of the computer and decided to see if he could find out anything else about this enigmatic establishment. However, after about an hour of searching, he still was having no luck. Everything was about corporate fraud or the "missing children" incident. Then, as he searched through an archive of old newspapers, something caught his eye.

_Grand Re-Opening! Fazbear Pizzeria Once More Opens Its Doors!_

Why this stood out to him, John didn't know. It mostly talked about how the pizzeria was more "family friendly". The animatronics had been set up to scan for predators, better quality security cameras all that stuff. The paper even featured pictures of these new animatronics. John recognized the main crew, which sent shivers down his spine.

Then there was the last picture.

A puppet was popping out of a present box to the delight of several kids standing around. The picture itself was normal, but it was the appearance of the puppet itself that perturbed John.

It's mask.

The tear tracks.

It was familiar.

Doing his best to shake that feeling off, he scrolled further.

A few months of issues later, John saw something that made his breath catch in his throat.

Another set of murders.

Five more children.

How had he not found this earlier? He must have seen the headline of five children killed and ignored it thinking it was referring to the original event. John quickly read the article, which, he noticed, was not the headline. This event had resulted in the closing of the location, much like the first set of murders. However, the differences were that this time the killer had not been caught and there was no attempt made at hiding the bodies. They had just been strewn about the building.

Now this was odd. This had similarities to the first killings, but the fact that the original killer had been caught and the fact that the bodies weren't hid implies that it had to have been a different person. A copycat killer maybe? Someone who had been inspired by the original murders?

John stood up and rubbed his temples. He had never been as good as Sherlock at figuring these things out. Picking up his teacup from earlier that morning, he headed into the kitchen and washed it out.

Setting it on a rack to dry, John turned to the living room, but before he could start to enter, he saw something.

A pair of dusty, golden, robotic rabbit ears poking up from the window.

Seeing them made John's stomach drop straight to his feet. He had no idea why.

It was the same feeling he got when he saw the man from his nightmares.

John continued to stare at them, but they didn't go away.

They just stayed there.

He considered going to wake Sherlock, but him sleeping was such a rare thing, and anyways, what could he do about it that John couldn't do?

The issue was John had no idea what to do.

As he stepped forward, they dissolved into the air. As if a gust of wind had picked them up and blew them away.

Running to the window, he looked out but saw no sign of anything out of the ordinary.

Was he really seeing things?

* * *

**Dun dun dunnnn! Dramatic! Also, what do you think about the new cover picture? I'm learning how to use Photoshop, so of course one of the first things I make is a cover for my story! :3 **

**By the way, fun fact, Springtrap is my second favorite animatronic! If you manage to correctly guess my favorite, I'll give you internet cookies!**

**Please tell me what you think in the comments! I really appreciate it!**


	13. Night 3

**Hey, I only took three days this time! Pretty good considering my recent track record.**

**I'm also going to make an effort to try and lengthen the chapters. I realized how short some of the previous ones were, so I'm gonna try to combine the smaller things to make things longer instead of separating them so much.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Most of John's day was spend trying to relax. He made some tea and decided to catch up on recent events. This worked well to keep the terrors out of his mind until Sherlock dashed into the room, shattering the peaceful atmosphere he had managed to create.

"John, John listen. I know why the animatronics are so aggressive!"

"Oh?" He responded, looking up from the paper he had been reading.

"Someone has tampered with them. They've rewired them to be aggressive towards adults; most likely it's the same person who murdered those children."

"That reminds me, it turns out-"

"This means that all we have to do is rewire them to solve the problem! It's simple!"

"Sherlock, there's-"

"Although I will have to brush up on my computer programming, I admit I'm a bit out of practice."

"Sherlock!"

The detective finally noticed that John was trying to get his attention. "Yes?"

"There were five more murders besides the originals. The killer struck again."

"But he was caught the first time, wasn't he?"

"That's right. However, they never caught the second killer."

"It was probably a copycat, but this case is turning out to be more interesting than I first believed."

Sherlock looked at John expectantly.

"What?" John finally said.

"Well? Where are the case files for the second murders?"

"I don't have the files, I found out about it online."

"Well I'm going to have to pay Lestrade a visit and see if I can get a hold of them then."

"You know he probably won't be happy since you ruined the last set of files he let you take home."

Several weeks ago Sherlock had borrowed several cold case files and proceeded to pour lemon juice all over them, convinced that would reveal a secret message. It didn't, and Sherlock returned a set of very soggy folders to a very frustrated Lestrade.

"Hm, you're right. I guess I'll start with the article you read; then I'll figure out a way to get the files later."

Sherlock again gave John that expectant look.

"You want me to pull it up for you, don't you?"

"That would be convenient, yes."

John rolled his eyes, walked over, and started up his computer. "Here it is."

Sherlock immediately sat down in front of the bright screen and started scanning the presented information.

After a while, John realized he wasn't getting his computer back.

…

All too quickly John and Sherlock's shift approached.

"Did you pick up the uniform?" John asked.

Sherlock didn't respond.

"You didn't, did you?"

"Well it doesn't serve any purpose, so I made the decision that it wasn't important."

"It's still important. We're leaving early so we can pick it up."

"But John-"

"No excuses. We're picking it up and that's final."

"Fine." Sherlock conceded, making it as obvious as he could that he didn't agree with him and was in no way happy with the way things were going.

…

After picking up the uniform and forcing Sherlock to change into it, John had to deal with his complaints all the way to the Pizzeria.

Right when he thought that he couldn't bear it for one more moment, they finally arrived.

Stepping out into the chill, damp night air, a silence descended upon the duo.

With a cold and quiet determination they pushed open the doors and entered the building.

…

As John and Sherlock got settled in for the long night ahead of them, the phone rang.

John set it on speaker and answered.

"Hello?"

"H-hello, hello? You guys are doing great! You know, m-most newbies don't make it this f-far." Mike realized the implications of what he just said. "N-not that they died or anything! Th-they just moved on to something e-else, th-th-that's what I meant."

"Of course." John said, rolling his eyes.

"W-well I'd better hurry up, I can't take u-up too much of your time. Tonight is w-when it starts g-getting tough." He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "Some advice my old b-boss gave me; if you get caught, t-try playing dead. G-go limp. He d-didn't think it was a great idea, but I survived several times by staying still, so it's w-worth a shot. Of c-course it's best just to not get caught." Mike let out a nervous chuckle. "Anyhow, I-I'll leave you to it. Catch y-you later."

The phone clicked off.

"Well he actually said something useful tonight." Sherlock commented as he sat down in the main office chair, causing a loud creak to express the furniture's stress.

"This is hard for him Sherlock. The place has obviously driven him mad." John chided, he too sitting down.

"Yes, yes. A pity for him. Time to get to watching; I've developed the perfect formula for surviving."

"Oh really?" John was not convinced.

"Check the hall lights before looking at the camera, check Pirate Cove about once an hour, and make sure to keep an eye on Freddy and the power. That's it."

"Well if you're so sure…"

"I'm always sure John."

…

"DAMMIT SHERLOCK, HOW DID YOU NOT NOTICE HOW LOW THE POWER WAS?" John screamed.

The clock read 5 A.M. The power read 5%

Sherlock ignored him and continued trying to run damage control. Bonnie had been particularly annoying that night, paying them several visits causing them to have to slam the doors down, causing them to use excess power that Sherlock's master plan hadn't accounted for. The detective was doing his best of making sure he knew the locations of the animatronics before the power inevitably cut out.

Pirate Cove, clear.

Bonnie in the dining room.

Chica in the kitchen.

Freddy…

Where was Freddy?

A dark laugh echoed throughout the building.

"SHERLOCK WHAT WAS THAT." Sherlock could tell John was not doing so well.

"I-well I'm not quite sure." He said, finally taking notice of his panicking companion.

"YOU DON'T KNOW?"

"Well, not exactly no."

The laugh again sounded, this time louder.

"I wonder-" Sherlock was cut off by all the sound of a large generator powering down. The lights cut off. Even the fan stopped.

Besides John's heavy breathing, all was quiet.

Then a pair of bright eyes flickered on in the left-hand door.

A music box plunked out the familiar notes of the Toreador March, but the mechanical edge grated against their nerves.

It almost sounded like an antique Polyphon music box, but it just wasn't.

There was something off about the sound.

It was like a small itch at the back of Sherlock's mind.

As the tiny tune swelled, Mike's advice resurfaced in his mind.

Sherlock leaned close to John and whispered "Don't move. Play dead."

Slowly John nodded.

The silence abruptly returned.

The dark figure in the door way shuffled forward.

Lurching.

Like a zombie.

A clock chime startled John and Sherlock, causing them to jump. In fear they stood waiting for the lumbering robot to finish them, but he had stopped moving. Still scared to move, John slowly turned his head to look at the clock on the wall of the office.

6 A.M.

The power returned, and Freddy was gone.

The pair collapsed into their chairs, breathing heavily.

They were alive.

They had survived Night 3.

* * *

**Please tell me what you think in the comments! I really appreciate it!**


	14. The Madness

**Ugh, I am sorry I am taking so long with these chapters. I hope you enjoy; this story is definitely starting to swing towards the darker side of things... (as if murderous animatronics possessed by dead children wasn't dark enough amirite)**

* * *

The cab ride home was dead silent.

No words were spoken.

No words needed to be spoken.

John watched the streetlights flash by as they drove down road after road.

A horrendous, high-pitched screech filled his head. Collapsing over in his seat, he desperately clutched at his head, tearing at his hair, trying to get it out of his head, yelling himself, as if to drown it out.

It just grew louder and louder.

He was faintly aware that someone was trying to communicate with him, but everything else was secondary to that noise.

That terrible, terrible noise.

Words grew from the hellish cacophony, fading into his consciousness.

Save them.

Save them.

SaVe thEm.

SAvE ThEM.

SAVE THEM.

SAVE THEM.

SAVE HIM.

"JOHN SNAP OUT OF IT!"

He felt a stinging sensation on his cheek.

The noise had stopped. John sat up. The cab had stopped; both the driver and Sherlock were staring at him. Looking down at his hands, he saw bloody scratches from digging his nails into his palm. His throat was sore from screaming. Blood dribbled from his head down the side of his face.

However, the thing that really got to him was Sherlock's expression.

It was the look he had when they investigated Baskerville. That look that was as close to fear as Sherlock could get. That look so uncommon and foreign on his face.

"I-" John tried to stammer out a sentence.

"Get out." The cabbie harshly said.

Neither of them moved.

"Now. I mean it."

Snapping John's attention back to the situation, he opened up the car door, wincing at the sting of the wounds on his palms.

Soon, he and Sherlock were standing on the abandoned sidewalk of London at 6:33 A.M.

"Sh-Sherlock… I…" Again, John's words failed him.

"What happened." The Detective's voice was flat, as if he was processing what had happened.

"W-well, there was th-this noise, a-and I-I don't kn-know what c-came over m-me…" Speaking felt like he was swallowing sandpaper.

Slowly Sherlock nodded. "Let's go."

He turned and started walking back to the flat.

John started to speak, then fell silent.

There was nothing to be said.

…

Trudging along on foot, they reached the apartment in about forty-five minutes. The door's lock opened with a _ker-chink_ and soon John and Sherlock were standing in the main room of their flat.

Standing there staring at each other.

"Sherlock, I know you'll think I'm crazy but please just hear me out."

Sherlock nodded.

"Promise you won't interrupt?"

No response.

John gave him a look.

"Oh all right."

"I think there's something more to that place. Something besides faulty wiring."

"Speaking of which, we need to find an opportunity to sneak in there and-"

Sherlock trailed off when he saw John's glare.

"As I was saying, there's something strange going on. I know you won't believe me but I think there's a supernatural element."

"What? You expect me to believe that they're 'possessed' or something? John, that's ridiculous."

"I know, I know but I-"

"I was worried about this. You're starting to turn into Mike."

"But I have these nightmares and-"

"John, a nightmare is hardly solid evidence. There's a perfectly reasonable explanation besides this ghost nonsense." Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes.

"Fine." John conceded, "You'll see. When I'm right, you'll see. Don't whine to me and say I didn't tell you." A panic rose in his voice; a slight waver that made it grating to listen to.

"John, I think you need to get some sleep." Sherlock actually sounded concerned. The tone was odd in his voice.

"No, Sherlock don't you see, the nightmares will come back. The man-"

"Go to bed. I can't have you having psychotic snaps like this."

John glared at Sherlock as if trying to burn a hole in his chest, but the detective was right.

Rolling his eyes, John turned and headed to bed.

…

Almost as soon as he closed his eyes, the dream hit him.

He was standing in a darkened room. The only source of light was from moonlight windows and from a flashlight he was holding in his paw.

Paw? He didn't think he should have paws, but John ignored the feeling. What mattered now was moving. He didn't know why but he felt this urge to walk, to just stretch his limbs somehow.

So he started to walk.

Lumbering through the door and into another empty room.

Well, almost empty.

A single dead child was propped up in a corner.

The sight filled him with an uncontrollable rage. A hate for something. What was it? He couldn't quite remember.

It was evil.

He knew that much.

Turning to face another doorway, he was greeted by a haunting figure.

A long, stretched body complete with dangling limbs and a face frozen in a cold smile.

A puppet

_Follow me. _

John wasn't sure why, but he complied with the specter's command and followed the floating figure through the building.

In several of the rooms, there were more dead children. Just propped up. As if the person who had killed them was gloating.

_Save them._

Suddenly, as they entered another room, a figure dashed toward them.

A purple man with a grotesque smile stretched out across his face.

The hellish figure was familiar. It evoked a sense of pain and a wave of rage.

He had never quite felt a hate similar to this one. It felt old. It felt pure.

The Marionette that had been leading John vanished into the ground at the sight of him.

The man ignored it and headed directly for John.

Outstretched in his hand was some sort of crank, but before John could get a good look, the Purple Man started beating him over his head with it, cackling.

John desperately tried to beat the man off, but his efforts were in vain.

Darkness flooded into John's vision and he collapsed.

_you can't_

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**Please review and tell me what you think! I really appreciate it!**


	15. The Apartment

**It's a miracle! I finally finished the next chapter! I'm really sorry it took so long, but life just got in the way, ya know? School and family create a lot of things to juggle. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

John's eyes snapped open. His skin was covered in goosebumps and he felt as if he was freezing from the inside out.

Sitting up, he rubbed his arms trying to generate some scrap of warmth, but his efforts were fruitless.

Standing on shaky legs, John hobbled to the door of the bathroom thinking that maybe a hot shower would warm him up.

However, something was blocking the entrance. Something large; it was as big as the door frame. Ears and a top hat poked out from above the silhouette.

As John's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the figure better.

It was purple. It was a bear. It was watching him with cold, lifeless eyes.

John yelled and stumbled backwards, his hand searching for some sort of object he could use to fend off the creature before him.

It didn't move.

It just stood there.

_Follow me._

The familiar voice filled John's mind, lulling him into complacency. As it shuffled off, John followed.

Out of his room.

Down the hall.

Into the living room.

"John, where are you going?"

A voice called to him, but the words did not register.

He continued following.

To the door.

A hand on his shoulder.

John whipped around, swiping it away. A fierce look rose in his eyes.

"Calm down John, it's me." A curious Sherlock responded.

"It's…you?"

After a few seconds, John regained his consciousness. "Sh-Sherlock?"

The detective nodded.

"I was… There was th-this thing in m-my room and... It told me to follow it and I did, I followed it. You had to have seen it! It was big and p-purple and-"

"John, I didn't see anything."

"B-but you couldn't have missed it! It was right here with me! I swear Sherlock, I saw it, it was real!"

Sherlock frowned, crinkling his face slightly. "You need a break. Obviously this case is having a severe effect on your mental state."

"NO SHERLOCK YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! THEY'RE REAL!" John suddenly snapped, screaming at the other man.

"If you keep going, you'll end up like Mike! Nothing but a husk of a man who is scared of his own shadow!" Sherlock yelled back.

The realization struck John like a freight train. He was turning into Mike. The thought of him becoming the scattered, flighty man sent shivers down his spine.

"M-maybe I should take a break…" John conceded.

"Good. These hallucinations you keep having should fade soon."

Nodding, John seemed to finally notice how exhausted he was and headed back up to his room. Maybe now he could get some rest undisturbed by nightmares…

…

John had the most peaceful sleep in what seemed like an eternity. No animatronics, no puppets, no purple men haunted him that night. Or rather, day, as when he woke up it was 3 P.M.

He clambered out of bed, took the shower he failed to get to earlier, and, feeling somewhat better, went into the kitchen to make himself some tea.

When he entered the living room, there was no sign of Sherlock. John sighed and checked for a note. He wasn't surprised to not find anything, and heavily sat down in his chair. Pulling his phone out from his pocket, he started to text the Detective when he noticed a message from Mike.

Odd. Usually, he called.

Disregarding his earlier thought to text Sherlock, John instead checked this new message.

"_HELP"_

It felt as if John's stomach immediately dropped down to his feet. The previous peace he had been feeling was completely gone and in its place was apprehension.

John frantically tried to call him, but it went to voicemail every time.

If he couldn't reach Mike, then maybe he could reach Sherlock. Sure enough, on the third try the detective picked up and before he had a chance to even say hello John was telling him about the situation.

There were a few beats of silence before Sherlock responded. "Well if he won't pick up then we need should go to his apartment. It's probably just a hallucination and he needs to be calmed down. What's his address?"

"I-I don't know."

"Find it out and text me. I'll meet you there." John could practically hear the detective rolling his eyes. He thought John was overreacting.

Exasperated, John stood and went over to his computer. After typing "Mike Schmidt" into the search bar, he tapped the enter key and about ten thousand results popped up. Sighing, John got to work trying to find their client.

…

It had taken about half an hour to find the proper Mike Schmidt that he was looking for, then another half an hour to find the address, but finally John had all the information he needed. When he stood up to put on his jacket, he thought he saw something in the shadows of the room.

Probably just his mind playing tricks on him.

Probably.

Ignoring the strange pulling sensation in the back of his brain, John left and started off towards the address hastily scribbled down on a scrap of paper.

…

The apartment where Mike lived was run down to say the least. There were cracked walls, busted windows, and an air of depression that can only be found at neglected places such as this. Frowning at the sight, John walked over to a crumbling wall and decided that he'd wait for Sherlock before going inside.

Luckily, he didn't have to wait long because soon the detective's tall figure appeared on the horizon.

His first words when he reached John were "This place doesn't look like anyone has touched it in twenty years."

John shrugged. "This is the address I found for him. Shall we go in?"

Sherlock nodded and walked up to the door. Three knocks and no reply.

Again he knocked, more forcefully this time. The door creaked open. It hadn't been latched.

Cautiously, Sherlock stepped into the dusty entryway and looked around. No sign of human life.

"Which room?"

"Oh uh," John scrambled to organize his thoughts "I think Room 87."

"I can hardly believe that there are 87 rooms in this building. Are you sure you've got that right?"

John pulled out the scrap of paper he had scribbled the address down on. "Yep, 87."

The detective's face formed into a slight frown, but he argued no more.

After ascending a flight of stairs, the two found themselves outside of Room 87. The worn, wooden door was closed. John knocked several times, but, much like at the front, there was no response. Glancing at Sherlock, who nodded, John tried the handle, but it was locked.

"Mike, it's ok. It's me and Sherlock. We're the ones who you asked to help you? We've come to help." John tried to make his voice sound as comforting as possible.

Silence.

"Mike? Are you in there?"

Again, silence.

"We're coming in." John said, standing aside while Sherlock picked the lock. Quickly the Detective finished and stood. Opening the door, him and John entered into the room

"He's probably not even-" John stopped as he saw what lay in front of him.

Messages written in what appeared to be blood, browned with time, covered the shabby walls.

STEP ONE, CHECK LIGHTS

BROKEN AND ALONE

NO HAPPY ENDINGS

NIGHTMARE

I HEAR THEM BREATHING

FIVE NIGHTS

However, written over these, in a different handwriting, and much fresher blood, was a different set.

YOU'RE NEVER ALONE

THOSE WALLS SEEM TO CALL MY NAME

YOU'LL NEVER BE FREE

I FOUND YOU

YOU'VE LOST YOUR MIND, NOW YOU'VE LOST YOUR TIME

I'VE FORGOTTEN WHAT IT'S LIKE TO SMELL FEAR

AM I EATING AT YOUR BRAIN?

YOU'VE COME SO FAR

WATCH A NIGHTMARE IN ACTION

Several more messages were too spattered to be legible, but the largest and most predominant, appearing several times across the room in the second handwriting, made John's blood freeze in his veins. Bile tried to force its way up his throat.

IT'S ME

**Dun dun dunnnnnn. Such drama. So what do you think happened to Mike? Who wrote the messages on the walls? All (well some) will be revealed in the next chapters! I hope to see you then! Please review and tell me what you think!**

**P.S. Yes a couple of lines were taken from songs about FNaF. Credit to NateWantsToBattle and TryHardNinja for coming up with such great lyrics!**


	16. The Writing

**Did a lot better this time on posting a new chapter in a timely fashion huh. I'm so proud of myself.**

**I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Neither John nor Sherlock had anything to say. Well, ok, that was a lie. Sherlock always had something to say.

"This is fantastic!" the detective exclaimed, a giddy look spreading across his face.

John didn't scold the detective as he normally did. He was too busy fighting the urge to vomit.

Running from wall to wall, Sherlock inspected the various writings. "The first set appears to be from our very own Mike, with, what I suspect, is his own blood, but we'll need a DNA test to know for sure. However, I don't recognize the second handwriting, however it's in the same blood as Mike's writing. Considerably fresher though, I'd say it's been written within the past eight hours."

Silence again from John.

"Well? Nothing?" Turning, Sherlock checked on the doctor. He had fallen to his knees with a hand covering his mouth. Immediately the Detective was by his side. "John? Are you alright?"

He managed to nod.

"What's wrong? When was the last time you ate?"

John realized he didn't know.

"Come on, I'll call Lestrade to start work on all this. You need food and rest."

That's when John lost consciousness.

…

Darkness.

Then, a figure. A puppet.

It was familiar somehow. As if he'd seen it…

It struck him. That was the apparition that had appeared in his nightmare. Long, dangling limbs attached to a spindly body accented by white buttons. Its face was almost clown like; a white base with a smile, yet painted tears streaming down its cheeks.

He couldn't help but think how melancholy it looked.

Then it hit him. John remembered who he was, how he'd been having the terrible dreams and how he felt like he was slowly going mad.

The room. Mike's room. Walls coated in his suffering.

A child's laughter filled the void John was in, snapping his attention back to the Puppet. It was just staring at him with its empty sockets.

Slowly, a room formed around them. A black and white tiled floor below and endless gray walls on all four sides.

Then the corpses appeared. Four children, one in each corner. The puppet turned away from him and started towards one of the bodies. John watched in horror as the ghastly marionette placed each child into the suit of one of the animatronics from the Pizzeria.

Right as the last suit went on, a fifth corpse appeared right next to John, causing him to leap away in surprise.

It stared right at him with its lifeless eyes.

Then the image of a golden Freddy suit filled his vision.

He tried to block it out, but even when he closed his eyes it was still there.

IT'S ME

John awoke, gasping, back in his bed at 221B.

It had all been a dream. Just another nightmare.

But this time it had felt real. John had been aware of himself, not clouded as in past dreams. He remembered everything. The puppet. The children. The golden bear.

"IT'S ME" coursed through his head, like a song that was so catchy you couldn't stop humming it.

"Ah, I see you're awake John. You've been out for three hours." Sherlock popped into his room from the hallway.

"Th-three hours? What h-happened?"

"Well you saw Mike's room and promptly passed out. Probably because you haven't eaten in several days."

John hadn't noticed the scraping hole in his stomach until Sherlock mentioned it. The detective was right, he hadn't been hungry in a long time.

"There's some takeout downstairs. I'll give you the details while you eat."

…

"So the writing was in blood and that the tests showed that the DNA matched Mike's samples? Also he's disappeared and no sign of a body?"

"Of course John, that's what I just said. Do you have to repeat everything I say back to me?"

John gave Sherlock a withering look as he finished up the Chinese takeout on the table in front of him.

"Any signs of a break in?"

"No, the door's lock was intact. Whoever attacked Mike either picked the lock or had a key."

"How do you know he was attacked? He could've just finally snapped, wrote the messages, and then run off."

"Not possible." Sherlock quickly cut in. "The more recent messages were in a different handwriting that didn't match the base ones. The base ones do, however, match known examples of Mike's handwriting meaning he wrote those himself."

"In his own blood?"

"Yes John, try to keep up."

"Just because there's a second set of handwriting doesn't mean that there was an intruder."

"Ah John, but the handwriting isn't all. There were also signs of a scuffle in one of the corners of the main room. The walls scratched and the carpet torn up, as if someone tried to drag another person away. There are specks of blood on the arm of a nearby sofa, so we know that the intruder smashed Mike's head into it to quiet his protests. The blood trail continues to a broken window, with a different man's blood on the jagged edges. It looks like he smashed it, pushed Mike out, and then moved his body to a different location. I doubt those are the actions of anyone paying Mike a social visit."

"Well… ok but how do you know the intruder is a man?"

"Not only is it statistically more likely, but the shag carpet provides for a somewhat accurate medium for preserving footprints. Size 11; since it's more likely for a man to have larger feet, which means that our suspect is a man."

"No idea where the intruder went or where Mike is?"

"Not yet, although Lestrade and his men are doing their best. God knows how long it will take them."

"Well shouldn't you be out there looking too? Why are you here?"

"I had to make sure you were alright, of course."

John gave a disbelieving look. "What's the real reason Sherlock."

The detective sighed. "I wanted to try to figure out what went wrong with my survival plan last night and formulate a new and more effective one."

"There it is."

"I still needed to check on you though. I've seen you handle much worse than some ominous messages scrawled in blood, and while I can handle not eating for long periods of time, you do not possess my superior metabolism and require food more than once a week."

Ignoring Sherlock's slight narcissism in the comment, John nodded and said "I'm sorry about that. I think those nightmares were having a bigger effect than they should be. Now that I've had some food and rest, I'm sure I'll be alright."

"Does that mean that you'll be able to come along tonight? To the shift?"

John took a deep breath. He honestly didn't know if he was up to it or not, but he couldn't leave Sherlock to fend off those… things again.

"Yeah, I can do it."

Sherlock was obviously pleased, but he tried to hide it. Clearing his throat, he stood up. "Well you should probably go back to bed. You'll need your rest."

"You do too."

"Don't be silly John, I'm fine."

John stood too, sighing. Sherlock could be so stubborn sometimes. "When was the last time you slept?"

Sherlock muttered an unintelligible answer while turning to go into the living room.

"See Sherlock? I insist you get some rest. Doctor's orders."

"Oh for God's sake, fine. Just so you'll stop nagging me; I can't think with all your chatter."

With that, the pair headed to their respective rooms to prepare for the night ahead.

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**Ready for Night 4? I know I sure am! Please review and tell me what you think!**

**Fun Fact: This story was originally going to be a Johnlock but I decided to focus more on the theory and plot elements than the smoochy-smoochy elements. Probably a wise decision.**


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